


Skipping

by bentham (Arachnia)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arachnia/pseuds/bentham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With enough gate-hopping and teleporting, you'll end up at his front door. Though, it's not suggested that you do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skipping

**Author's Note:**

> ... I have no regrets, I wanted to do something stupid and cute and sorta sad AND I DID.
> 
> Also I finally figured out how to work the stupid dumb coding for the chatlogs WHOO

Rose Lalonde felt rather somber as she flitted above the unfamilar green planet. Her body ached, her eyes hurt, the black dress weighed heavily on her.

She was tired.

Rose Lalonde was so very tired.

But this was something she was awaiting, as she floated above the green tinted city. It was not a mission of revenge. Just of inquiry. She spent a long time finding out ways to get here, she would not just go, say something fairly insignifigant, and fly off.

The window to what was obviously his apartment (the giant white cueball on the rooftop was somewhat of a hint, as was the "WELCOME, MISS LALONDE" sign written in shiny white ink on black construction paper taped to the inside of window) had been opened. She let herself in.

Her landed easily on the ground, and she examined the surroundings. The floor was green, the walls were green, the paintings were green shaded with darker greens to detail stereotypical victorian portraits, ardorned with rigidly posed carapaces in froofy outfits. A gramophone played somewhere within the house. Emitting from it was a slow, almost too slow sounding ballad from a lonely violin. The tune was too familiar to her, perhaps some odd attempt to make her nostalgic. The entire thing was surreal, the apartment feeling so tense with just her prescense. It felt so stupid to her that her first thought was not "Where the hell is he?", but rather a spoken-aloud "My god, it's so green."

There was a bright, quick light, and he was there in front of her, close enough that she could see the swirling details on the buttons of his jacket. "It certainly is, darling." His voice was one of the most disturbing things that ever burrowed itself into her brain, not spoken aloud but already there as if it had always been, deep and twinged with some sort of untracable accent that made it seem as though he was of a learned, higher class.

She stepped back, and he did the same. "My apologies. I appeared a tad too close to you. I assumed you were to be a step back, at least." His... head, she supposed she could call it, tilted. "And... Now you have. Oh."

She raised an eyebrow. "Flustered, Doctor?" Her lips quirked into something of a smug smirk, while his impeccably white-gloved hands wrung together.

"Possibly. It's quite rude for you to be so upfront, swinging through my window without a care." He seemed to relax a tad, hands settling to behind his back. "Although, I did expect you, which is why the window was so widely opened. I do hope you enjoy the welcome sign. I also prepared tea and strawberry tarts, though the tea might be a tad cold. Tut, Rose, you were to arrive sooner."

He turned on his heel rather brusquely and walked, his stance oozing with false confidence. She would break him down later. For now she would humor him and follow him to the green table he set up for them. The seats were overstuffed and cozy.

The tarts were red and contrasted much too sharply with the green, but they looked good. Rose would have none of it, however, prefering to pout and glare. "You're angry," he said, rather bluntly.

"Of course I am." Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. "You led me to my death."

"As I was supposed to." His fingers laced together. "Pushed you into your spot. One step closer to checkmate, or at least check." He chuckled, and it was somehow more shudder-inducing in person than it was in text. "And you're healthy, aren't you? You're here. You're alive."

She glared at him. "I wasn't. For a short moment, I wasn't. Dying isn't exactly pleasant." Her fidgeting hands clenched the tablecloth. "You know exactly why I'm here, Doctor."

A pause.

"I shall still humor you." Typical.

She was stewing in her anger now. "Goodbye." She stood up, hands on the table. "Your information has been helpful, but your motives are monstrous. I will not allow you to pull the strings of my fate anymore." She stared at him, awaiting a response.

Another pause.

"Oh. I see." He seemed tense, seemed almost... surprised. "Cutting me off like some wonderful drug. As much as you enjoy me, I am very harmful."

"I don't enjoy you," she responded quickly. Nails dug into the the cloth.

"Darling neophyte, it is useless to lie to me. We've grown rather fond of each other through our short chats. Haa haa." The god-forsaken chuckle again. She hated it. Hate, hate, hated it."For that matter, you seem not to remember my purpose, it is to push the pieces into place, to summon my master." He crossed his legs. "It is not my intention to be harmful, just to merely--"

"You killed me." Had to keep her voice steady. No tears now, not yet. "Might as well have been the beast who pressed the sword into my gut."

Pause. A mild tension from his usually graceful movements, a bit of shakiness as he rose his hand. But, he reconfigured himself and started again. "It it not my intention to be harmful." His voice suddenly became tenser, every word enuciated itself clearly. "Merely to make sure this all ends. Your eventual health and safety is a priority, for future moves."

"STOP IT WITH THE GODDAMN HALF-TRUTHS!" She shouted, tears appearing in her eyes, those backstabbing and betraying tears. "I thought I could trust you."

"You shouldn't. Why would you trust someone who knows all your story and is willing to spoil it?" His tone shifted so suddenly in his speech, she found herself thinking it amazing that in all his years he had yet to master the art of monotone, of hiding any sense of emotion.

Compensation, perhaps, for a lack of facial expressions.

"I will no longer have you typing it up, then." She hissed. "I will not let you lead me. I will break this sequence and I will win this game. Your all-seeing eye will--"

"My all-seeing eye is nearly completely blind." The reply was meant to cut, meant to make her think twice about her rudeness, she could feel it. She almost expected the interruption.

And yet she still stopped her rant and stared at him, eyes widened, and let out a single flat statement;

"What."

"You heard me quite clearly, Rose. I am living moment to moment, as you normal mortals." He stood, perhaps realizing that tea and tarts weren't the best thing to offer an angry little girl, and in a split second all the dishes and food disenigrated and reappeared in his kitchen. Easy clean-up and all. "It's troubling, and has been like this since your arrival. Ten minutes ago?"

She glanced at a clock. "Fifteen, actually."

There was the mildest twitch from his stance. "See? Awful, isn't it? I can only see the quickest of glimpses, instead of every which way this conversation could possibly end. However, I do know why."

He stopped, as if expecting yet another inquiry, but Rose stayed silent.

"My death is drawing quite near, of course. Muddying up the waters." There was no regret, no sorrow or mournfulness in his tone. He was stating a fact, nothing more.

She swallowed hard, forcing back the tears again. Why was she crying? Why the hell did she care? "How unlike you. To accept death so willingly is almost frivolous."

"I cannot fight it." He shrugged. "Why should I? It is an inevitable thing. Another action set underway that will assure that everything turns out well." He turned away from her, striding towards one of the paintings, as if to avoid her gaze. "Your death was... Inevitable." The pause between the words made her nervous, made her angry.

"'Turns out well.'" She repeated mockingly. "Everything you've done so far is to deter me from my g--"

"With only the hope that it will end well." He interjected sternly. "That is what you-- Us mortals do, correct?" He turned to her, his hands nervously wringing themselves again. A flash of green covered his form for a second before disapearing again. "We hope and regret and despair."

"Why now, then? Why not tell me when you were to die before?" She was nearly shouting now, harshly spitting out the words as if they were venom.

"Oh, yes, Rose. Tell you that someone you would grow so fond of would die so soon." As if to respond to the challenging tone, his words came out in a harsh growl. Static was flashing around him, his sihoulette turning into an angry thunderstorm of abyss. "Do you think I want to die? Don't you think I would much rather turn the instruments of my demise to aether?" His voice seemed to distort, crackle, repeat like a broken record.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" She held her ground, even as he stepped forward. She had seen worse, felt worse. She died before.

"It's unfair that I've been trying to spare you the heartbreak of _knowing_ , just _knowing_ , that another guardian, a friend even, is set to pass on?" His body shifted and shocked, glimpses of nothingness, everything, and stars for moments before turning to him again.

" _ROSE LALONDE, IT IS NOT THAT EASY_!" The words are an ear-splitting shout in her mind, making her hold her head, shut her eyes, and go to her knees. It hurt so much, like a tazer directly to her brain.

And this is where she started to cry. She deserved this, she deserved all of it. She should have followed the game like normally. Perhaps her mother would still be alive. Perhaps Rose never would have died herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she wasn't such a fool, all her hardships could have been avoided. Rose was a pathetic, cursed, sobbing mess on the green floor, covering her eyes with her hands.

" _It's never that easy_." The ringing stopped and was replaced by a mournful echo of a whisper. He was kneeling to her, a hand on her shoulder. "You assume me to be too selfish. It's rather rude."

She looked up at him, eyes opened wide and wet with tears. "Don't die. Please don't die." How could he die? He could deflect any bullet, probably could force the most powerful person to their knees. And yet here he was in front of her, electricity crackling around his form, _mortal_.

She didn't want to use that word to describe anyone she cared about ever.

Her arms wrapped around him and she hiccupped, his jacket soon damp with tears. "Don't die." She repeated. "Don't die, I love you. Don't die."

The three words spilled out of her mouth easily, she barely thought of them. Her mother always taught her about how important they were, how she should always wait until the moment was right to say them. And yet there they were, hanging in the air with the rest of the conversation, so naturally there.

His arms gently wrapped themselves around her shoulders and pulled her closer. His laugh echoed deeply in her mind, soft and almost relieved instead of the usual dry and harshness in it. "I daresay," he crooned, "This is the best surprise I've had."

There was the embaressement, swimming in the dull pain of heartbreak. Heat flooded her face and covered it in a pale blush. "Sorry," She half-croaked, half-hiccupped. "I'm so sorry for all of this."

"Hush. Not another word of self-defeat, my sweetest flower." She stayed close to him, almost trying to curl up to his body.

There was a good few long, beautiful moments of silence.

"I love you too, of course." Just a whisper into her mind, as if he might be afraid that someone could hear him. Her eyes opened wide soon as she worked the words through her mind.

"Really?" She said, staring at him. "You mean it? Don't lie."

"Of course. Why would I? A lovely young lady who finds ways to surprise me is on the top of my list." It was an honest inquiry, but she was giggling too much to have an answer. He stood up, offering his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her up, her form swaying slightly. "Let's nix all this doom and gloom. Appreciate what you and I have."

"Right. Of course." She was so giddy now, so extremely elated. But she hid it all down, shoved it all away. Couldn't make a fool of herself in front of him. "Then what shall we do?"

"For starters, Miss Lalonde." Gloved fingers brush and eventually intertwine with her own fingers, dragging her hand into the air. "I find it highly depressing that you will continue your life without some romantic gesture, knowing that your crush is right in front of you and acknowledging you."

Rose's hand tightened around his. "This is incredibly silly."

"Precisely. But you've always wanted to waltz with someone,so why not allow me to be that someone?" The line was so ridicuously corny that Rose had to allow herself a giggle. No sadness now. They were a pair of melancholy lovers on the road somewhere between Reality Street and Dying Dream Lane, and his other hand rested on her shoulder.

It longed to be on her hip (curse their adorable height difference, curse the fact that she was eye to eye with the top button of his jacket), but she looked up at him with a nervous sort of excitement, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "This positioning is ridiculous." She said. "It will have to do, however."

The music was slow and low, a sad and vaguely familar ballad that she could recall from the deep recessions of her mind, and he seemed to hum along with it, give it a bit more jive, something you could tap your feet and dance to.

So they did. Scratch was more graceful, obviously more experienced and properly dressed, while Rose's long robes made her stumble and trip. But she kept up the facade of knowing what he was doing, knowing every spin and not scuffing his spats until--

"Rose, pardon my language, but you're bullshitting your way through this." She stopped to glare at him, but tried to warm up the cold stare when she realize how immature she looked in his prescense. The thought that he might have enjoyed that crossed her mind, but Miss Lalonde simply kept herself at room temperature despite the blush creeping back onto her face.

"I know what to do."

"You most certainly do not. Why not something a bit more suited for amateurs?" He let go of her hands and she sighed.

But she found herself pressed close to his chest, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other on the back of her head. Like a scene out of some awful highschool romance, he was holding her close on their makeshift dancefloor and swaying her petite frame.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled him, eyes shut. She was safe here. This was a respite from the doom and gloom, to get away from the hurt and pain that was the real world.

"Rose?" His voice in her head was soft, crooning... Concerned.

Her response was a murmur and a nod.

"The darkness has ceased to cloud my mind. I can clearly understand our current situation again." His arms clenched a little bit tighter on her, as if afraid she would drift away.

Outside, there was a low, thunderous roaring sound as the universe was ripped apart, everything meticuously torn to shreds atom by atom. Things were attempting to correct themselves.

"This is a doomed timeline."

The record scratched as the song ended too suddenly and they held onto each other tightly.

Nothing was left.

\---

There was a nice little "bing" with the latest message from her alabaster-texted comrade.

There's quite a few gates around these worlds, mind you.  
Plenty to lead to all sorts of different, fantastic worlds.  
TT: Such as?  
Well, of course, different worlds of different settings. Dave's, John's, Jade's.  
TT: Interesting.  
Some that aren't even suppose to be here. Glitches, you could say.  
Gates to failed worlds of failed sessions, though I don't suggest that at all.  
There's one that will even lead you to my humble planet.

Rose stared at the sky, the clouds gently rolling by as the rain fell from them and scattered into the iradescent ocean.

TT: So we would meet each other.  
Correct. Can you feel the butterflies rising in your chest and fluttering about?

Her fingers hesitated and she drew them away from the keys for a second.

TT: My apologies, but the notion sounds like a recipe for disaster.

A spark of electricity ran down his fingers as the fabric of the gloves brushed the keys.

Good answer. By walking away from current matters just to give me this kiss and hug I'm positive you so desire will break your timeline. Sad, isn't it?

Hesitation, hesitation, type, regret.

TT: I will reluctantly agree.

Her knees drew to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

About a dimension away, Doc Scratch slumped into his chair.

The worst part of it was the fact that they could not even say the cliche "At least we're under the same sky" line.


End file.
